A Parody of Epic Proportions
by BandGeek58407
Summary: If Abigail thought that her party was turning out a little strange before, she was completely sure of it after Conner, the White House curator, showed up with a crazed and not so bright plan to avenge his broken heart.


I've had an idea like this for a while, but only today did I get the real inspiration to write it. Conner the White House curator is so very unloved. And excuse the lateness…this is (sort of) a belated Valentine's Day fic.

**For Corley—As Ben said, "CONNER ROCKS!" And I hope Sammy returns from his kidnapping in one piece. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Conner or Riley or Ben or Abigail or…now, do you really want me to keep listing things? Didn't think so.**

_**A Parody of Epic Proportions**_

"Aw!" Abigail smiled as she hugged the stuffed animal. "It's so cute! Thank you, Ben! I absolutely _love_ it."

"Happy Valentine's Day," the treasure hunter said, kissing her on the cheek. While she cooed over the adorable little cream-colored bear with its plush heart in its arms, he cast a look over his shoulder at Riley.

"See?" the younger man mouthed silently. "All women like stuffed animals."

To tell the truth, Ben owed the fact he wasn't being severely chastised right now to his friend. They had been at the grocery store, picking up some food for the party Abigail was planning on throwing, when he had realized it was February 14--Valentine's Day. And he had been rather lacking in the "gift for Abigail" department. Fortunately, Riley had decided to play Superman for that moment, leaving Ben where he stood, completely frozen, and returning in a flash with the bear in hand.

"Let's just put him right…here," Abigail sighed happily, making the bear a centerpiece of the food table. "Ah! Now the party can truly begin."

"But it's so…" Riley said. "It's so _pink_."

So it was—confetti littered every inch of exposed surface, plastic pink tablecloths donned each table, and all the food had been drowned in gallons of pink and red food coloring. Even the vegetables were pink. Now how she managed to do that Riley had no idea, nor did he want to know. He liked his carrots orange, thank you very much.

"Do you have a problem with pink, Mr. Poole?" Instantly, her eyes were one big piercing glare.

"It's just…not my color."

"And why not, may I ask?"

"It's such a girl color! I'm not a girl. And don't say you haven't noticed," he added hurriedly, noting her mischievous grin.

"Riley…" Ben muttered. "You might want to rephrase that last part of what you just said." The young techie was halfway through thinking about his wording when the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it!" Abigail said as she bounded to the door. A few seconds later, she returned, followed by Agents Sadusky and Hendrix.

"Where can I set this down?" Sadusky asked; he was carrying a large pot of steaming something-or-other rather awkwardly, his left arm working over some strange bulge in that side of his coat.

"Sadusky, I told you that you didn't have to bring anything," she sighed.

Riley peered over the edge of the pot as the agent set it down on the table. "Um…what is it?"

"Roast duck!" he declared proudly.

"As opposed to what, a live duck?"

Silence—Riley had only been kidding, but Sadusky looked around as if he had just been caught robbing a bank in his mother's wedding dress. "Nah, of c-course not," he stammers quietly, quickly moving toward the sofas. As he inched over, the other four staring bewilderedly after him could have sworn they heard him murmuring to the bulge in his jacket, "Shh…it's OK. I don't think he likes ducks. But Ben likes ducks. I know; I've asked him. The younger one's just jealous…" And much to their surprise (and confusion) a muffled quack emanated from the agent's figure as the bulge twitched a bit.

"I'm so sorry," Hendrix said, covering his face in embarrassment. "It's his new cholesterol medication. I _told_ him that the side-effects include mild delusion, but _noooooo_…don't listen to Hendrix." Shrugging, he ambled over to sit by his boss, picking up a pink piece of cauliflower on the way.

"Is this everybody?" Ben asked, looking around.

"Mhm," Abigail grimaced. "I invited your parents, but they're still on their honeymoon."

"_Still?_" Riley exclaimed. "Ben. They've been on that honeymoon for almost two years. What could be so interesting in Nepal? And why did _you_—" he said with a point at Abigail. "—invite them when they are still clearly halfway across the globe?"

"I thought it would be polite."

"But you didn't think to invite me, did you, Abi?" The voice didn't belong to anyone that they thought was present; slowly, they all turned and found one of the last people they were expecting to be standing in the doorway.

It was Conner, the White House curator.

And he didn't look too happy.

Despite Ben's pleading look of "please don't say it," Riley still went on to mutter, "Awk-ward…"

"Yes, it is me, Abigail. It didn't cross your mind, did it, that using me might actually hurt me? That going back to Gates would only—"

"I-I'm sorry," Riley suddenly said. "for interrupting what was probably a very well-rehearsed, emotional, angsty speech, but…where are you _from_?"

"I…" Conner stuttered. "I beg your pardon?"

"Your accent. What is up with your accent?"

"Nothing 'is up' with my accent. Can I please return to my angst-ridden monologue?"

All he got were some blank stares from the three of them and Hendrix, plus another slightly muted quack and the sound of ruffling feathers from Sadusky's coat.

"You know what?" the curator finally whispered menacingly. "You know what? I think I'm going to take some drastic action." Like a hawk, or more like a very confused, emotional man who wished he had a cape on for dramatic effect, he swooped down upon the food table and in a single motion snatched up Abigail's precious stuffed bear, tied a large napkin around its eyes like a blindfold, and whipped out a cheap paintball gun, holding it to the bear's head. "Nobody move, or the bear gets it!"

"Gets what?" Riley said in the thick silence. "An orange blot in the side of its face?"

"Yes! Yes _indeed!_" There was a crazed look in Conner's eyes, and although it quickly froze Ben, Abigail, and the agents in place, it had no such effect on Riley; he just seemed very confused. "He will have a large orange blot of _doom_ on his face and he will bleed stuffing all over your nice party and in your roast duck—"

"Hey!" Sadusky yelled.

"—and the stains from his polyester insides will stain your fancy white rug with the pain I feel every single day! And—"

"Again…" Riley sighed. "Sorry to interrupt. But…in case you haven't noticed, this little tale has been categorized as a 'Humor/Parody.' You, my deluded non-friend, are filling the angst-meter to dangerously high levels. Speak any more and I might as well start searching for the unsound author of this thing to inquire as to why she is handicapped in the 'recognizing genres' department."

"Riley," Ben said, puzzled for one of the first times in his life. "What are you talking about?"

"WHO CARES?" Conner cried, inching toward the door. "I'm leaving! And if you ever want to see this disgustingly cute bear again, you'll come find me." In what was probably meant to be a very dramatic exit, he dashed down to the door, footsteps echoing in the hallway and followed by two loud thunks—one sounding like forehead-on-door, the last more like entire-body-on-floor. "Ow…should have left the door open…" The hinges squeaked and the door slammed with a sense of finality.

"Ben!" Abigail muttered after the shock of their situation had worn off (and mind you, that took a while). "He's stolen my teddy bear! We have to go find him! He's probably having a really angry internal monologue as we speak, and honestly I don't want to be in another angsty story. I like parodies!"

"What the _hell_ are you two talking about?" Ben asked again.

"Why _else_ would Sadusky have a duck?" she said, pointing to the fidgeting agent.

"He does _not_ have a duck," Ben sighed. "That is just a very strange and unfortunate disease."

"Psh…yeah," Riley muttered. "A quack disease…pun intended."

"We still have to go find my bear!" She too dashed out the door like Conner, only much less painfully.

"We should go too…" Ben sighed conflictedly, following her.

Riley gazed around the room and weighed his options: there was door number 1, staying here and eating strange colored foods with two FBI agents and one concealed water fowl…or door number two, chasing after a weird curator for some freaking bear. Both did not seem very appealing, but he really didn't enjoy ducks all that much. "

"Enjoy the party." As he left, he cast a pitying look over at Hendrix, who simply sighed.

XNTXNTXNTX

Conner sat quietly on one of the Oval Office couches with the hostage bear, rocking back and forth and contemplating his ordeal. He had been such a nice guy—what had happened? Abigail played with his heart: that's what happened. Now he was only a shell of his former self, forced to kidnap grocery-store quality toys to get his love's attention. How pathetic, he told himself. If only—

"Excuse me, Conner?"

The booming female voice completely startled him, not to mention ruined his train of thought. "Who—who's there?" To the best of his knowledge, no one else was in the room with him.

"It's the author. Shut up with the angst. Now's not the time for a pity-party—"

"But I want a pity-party."

"And you _deserve_ a pity-party, but not now. You can get your own special angsty story later and do whatever you want, OK?"

"Whatever I want?"

"Sure thing."

"Can I have fifty points?"

"Wh-what?" she stammered. "Fifty points? For what?"

"I just want fifty points."

"Fine."

"And a cupcake."

"Whatever. I better go—the gang's coming up now."

"How do you know—wait." He frowned, embarrassed at his oh-so-silly question. And, just as she said, the door burst open and in stepped Ben, Abigail, and a fed-up looking Riley. "Oh. You're finally here, are you? Hold on…how come the secret service isn't swarming around you all like flies?"

"The same reason they're not swarming around you," Riley scoffed. "It's obviously not convenient for the purposes of the plot!"

"Wow," Abigail said, turning to Riley. "We are quite self-aware today, aren't we?"

"Yeah, I'll bet the people reading this are seriously wondering what is up with this whole thing."

From across the room, Ben exchanged confused glances with the curator. "I am so befuddled."

"Be-whaty-what?" Riley said, puzzled.

"I don't know. Tell me what's going on here, Riley, ol' pal." The older man's gaze got that copyrighted determined glaze about them, but Riley (having been around Ben for quite some time) had developed Ben-stare antibodies and simply laughed.

"I know something you don't know!" he taunted.

"Oh, right. _Really_ mature, there, Riley."

"I know something you don't know!"

"What are you, like twenty-six?" Getting completely into the childish, immature spirit, Riley began to hop around Ben in circles, which only frustrated him more. "Stop acting like you're in first grade."

"I know you are, but what am I?"

"That didn't even make any _sense!_"

"Your mom doesn't make any sense!"

"She makes more sense than _you!_"

They continued on in this manner, Abigail and Conner watching with growing looks of concern and occasionally glancing at each other. "OK, listen…" she said finally, sitting down beside him and trying to ignore the other two's bickering. "I know I should have called or said something…and I'm…I'm…" Conner looked at her hopefully.

"Aw, just forget it," she muttered. "Give me the damn bear!" The poor minor character being too shocked to protest, she snatched up the teddy and marched toward the door, grabbing the still-arguing Ben and Riley each by the wrists. The door slammed ominously behind them.

"Bye…" he sighed. "See you in my oneshot."

XNTXNTXNTX

**Oh my god. I just reread this, and I honestly wasn't planning on making it this weird. I'm terribly sorry if that scared you beyond words. (sweatdrop) **

**Please review, even if it is just to say "wtf is wrong with your mind, woman?" I'll appreciate it just the same. **


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